heat
by and you fall
Summary: When Sweeney Todd has trouble baking and controlling hormones, he blames the heat. Oneshot. Slight Lovett/Sweeney.


_So, um. Yeah._

_I've fallen into the throngs of Sweeney Tards. Forgive me, but I could not resist the singing murderer/beautician with the pinstriped trousers. _

_sniffles He's like a demented version of Edward Scissorhands…_

* * *

"Oh, bloody 'ell," Mrs. Lovett cursed, wiping precipitation from her pale brow. White cheeks were flushed pink, and the black fabric of her dress was slipping at the shoulders. "Mr. T, you're a 'elpless ol' thing, ain't ya. 'Tis not so 'ard, wot you're tryin' ta do!"

"Forgive me," Sweeney Todd replied, his face sweaty as well. His baritone voice was laced with dark sarcasm, but the baker was too busy to notice, so involved with her task as she was. "Is it supposed to be…pliable?" Sweeney watched with keen interest as she continued to show him, bending over him.

"O' course!" Nellie answered. "Wouldn't work if it wasn't. Easier ta work yer fingers around it, see. The white stuff makes it kinda icky after a while, but you'll get used to it. Oh, you great useless thing. You don't expect me ta just do all the work for ya, do ya? C'mon, give it a go."

Sweeney tried. "Why is it so moist?"

"Didn't they teach you anythin' in Australia, Mr. Todd? Bein' 'round a buncha starvin' prisoners, you would've learned this, I would imagine. Some tricks up yer sleeve."

"I didn't wear sleeves. It was too hot."

"Don't take it so literally, Mr. T. You always do that. Try ta have a sense o' humor, please." She took it back from him, kneading it deftly with her nimble, slender fingers. She was quite good at it. The barber wondered where she had learned her tricks from, but found he rather would not like to know. "There we are! There, now -- doesn't it feel nice ta learn somethin' new, Mr. T?"

He grumbled something noncommittal, but Mrs. Lovett smiled nonetheless, shifting away from him slightly, just to be polite. "C'mon, now. Nothin' ta be scared of, love. Take a bite."

Sweeney slipped the pastry between his thin lips. It was slightly doughy, but that was to be expected, seeming as Sweeney Todd had attempted to make something to eat before the auburn-haired baker had walked in and seen him beating the dough with a rolling pin, much like she had when he had first walked into her shop some months ago. "Good Lord, Mr. T! Yer thrashing it like it's the Devil himself!" she cried, her brown eyes dancing with amusement, and he glared at her sharply, snapping at her to "shut up and teach me, woman". Todd didn't like to ask for help, especially from Mrs. Lovett, because then she had an excuse to be all touchy-feely with him and coo over his mistakes like a child. She did that all the time, but it was like an overload of affection and giggles when times like these came.

"Good, I imagine," Nellie said, leaning on the countertop, her head resting on the palm of her hand. "'Course, anything ya do is bound to be perfect, Mr. T." She kissed him on the cheek fondly. "Even if yer hobby is slicin' throats and throwin' them down a hole to my bakehouse."

He didn't push her way, because then she would whine. He hated it when she did that. Her mouth lingered, far too long to be polite, and her lips were warm and soft, covered in a thin layer of white stuff (or flour), which gave them a strange but pleasant texture. He gave a sort of grunt in response, since he couldn't think of anything else to say in reply to her…compliment.

"Ain't you gonna finish that?" Mrs. Lovett inquired, finally pulling away from him and nodding at the food that was still clenched in his hand. Sweeney shrugged.

"You may have it, if you like," he offered. "I'm not too fond of sweets."

"Everyone needs a bit o' sweetness in their life, Mr. Todd!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Go on. Tuck in. I ain't gonna eat it and neither is Toby. He's too full o' gin to even move right now, and I just ate meself. No good use wastin' bread you worked ta make." Despite her words she plucked the pastry from his hand and brought it to her full mouth to take a small nibble, right on the place where Sweeney had taken a bite. _Secondhand kiss, is wot they called it_, _back in the day_, Mrs. Lovett mused, imagining the soft bread was his lips. _You 'opeless thing, Nellie. Thinkin' like a schoolgirl._ "A bit gooey, but that's all right," she admitted. "Still tastes just fine, Mr. T."

It was probably the heat that made her do what she did next -- she lifted her hand and slipped the pastry into Sweeney's slightly parted mouth. The barber started, staring down at her with appalled black eyes.

_Definitely the heat_, she thought.

"Mrs. Lovett," he said, his voice deep, a warning. There were these moments where she pushed her luck. Yes, he let her kiss him on the cheek every night, and yes, from time to time he returned such a gesture but he had to keep her around if she was to help him get the judge back.

"Pardon me, Mr. Todd," she said, but she didn't look or sound sorry at all. In fact, she seemed thrilled that she had just done what she had. _What a wicked little thing_, Sweeney Todd thought absentmindedly. Not like Lucy -- always with her fleeting touches. A brush of skin, a soft hand on his bicep. Frankly, Mrs. Lovett's impropriety with him was fascinating, but the barber would never admit it. That's why I just wrote it, so you would know, because he would never tell you himself, seeing as he's British and all. "Forgive me forwardness. 'Tis the heat, I would think. It's dreadfully 'ot, this time o' year. I'll need ta lie down for a moment."

Sweeney bit into the pastry and chewed, raising his hand to take it from her. It did taste just fine, better than fine, really, since Mrs. Lovett had helped make it.

_You're pathetic_, he said to himself.

"G'night, dear," she cooed, standing on tip-toe so she could kiss him on the cheek again. "I'm off ta bed."

_The heat…the heat, dammit. She's going to be in bed, in that silly slip of a thing she calls a nightgown. It's what prostitutes wear, is what it is. She's going to be sweating in that bed because of this blasted heat. The nightgown will be sticking to her skin and the moonlight will penetrate the fabric --_

"Mr. T? Ya look like you've got food poisonin'. Was there a roach in the dough?"

Her voice brought him back from his brief but pleasurable fantasy. He cursed inwardly, damning the heat and his hormones, which had behaved perfectly fine until now. He felt like a pubescent boy.

"No," he replied stiffly, his face pained. "It's fine. Good night, Mrs. Lovett."

He turned his back on her and stormed upstairs before she could stop him and annoy him with further questions. Maybe she had poisoned the dough with some hormonal drug of some sort, just so she could get him into her bed, like in those romance novels she was always reading after she closed the pie shop. She even read them aloud to Toby sometimes, for lessons, which made the boy starry-eyed whenever he saw a buxom lady in a low-cut dress. There was no way that boy was even old enough to like breasts! Though, Mrs. Lovett did have nice breasts… Round and perk, not too big but not small either. Just the right size for his hand --

He plopped down on the chair, wiping his white sleeves against his damp forehead. If she hadn't done that trick with the pasty, or looked at him with those large, seductive brown eyes, he wouldn't even be thinking these thoughts. Maybe it really was food poisoning.

_You know you would just love to go downstairs and really see if the moonlight goes through her gown. You know you would love to see if she's all sweaty._

He groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_I like to think Sweeney is a closet pervert._

_He's OOC, but anything besides angst and horror isn't Sweeney Todd, sadly. And this is romance and humor, which is as OOC as you can go with Sweeney. Review, please. 3_


End file.
